Miami's Hero
by susieq666
Summary: Horatio attracts an unwanted admirer, and treats the matter far too casually. It may not end well for him. Please note this is 'Drama' not 'Romance' - wouldn't want to disappoint anyone.
1. Chapter 1

MIAMI'S HERO

Prologue

Frank Tripp pressed his face against the lattice of the interrogation room, staring out into the street.

"Do you know that girl?" he asked.

Horatio Caine stood up, dropping the case file on the table, and joined him. He peered through the lattice, knowing it was possible to see out, while anyone outside would see only their shadows. Across the street, beyond the parking area, and partially in shade, was the young woman Frank was referring to. Dark-haired, probably in her mid-twenties, wearing jeans and t-shirt… She seemed to be looking straight at them, although Horatio knew they couldn't be seen. "I don't think so. Why?"

"She's been out there most of today. And yesterday. Seems a bit odd…"

"I don't know, Frank. Go and ask her, if you're bothered."

The detective shrugged and turned away from the window. "No law against standing in a public street. Guess she's someone's girlfriend or something."

They both made to leave the room, collecting their papers as they went.

Frank opened the door for his colleague. "How's your arm?"

Horatio grimaced. "Sore."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 1

_(Four days earlier….)_

Their teenage suspect, cornered and desperate, had pulled a gun on them.

Horatio, his own weapon levelled at the boy's head, said quietly, "Don't do it…"

Frank said reasonably, "There are two of us. You're still going in… Don't make things worse…"

The boy seemed to hesitate, the gun wavering in his uncertain hand.

Horatio said again, "Drop the gun. Because I _will _shoot."

"Don't do this, boy," Frank added.

The boy gave a rueful smile, and lowered the weapon, as Frank stepped forward to get some handcuffs on. But the boy suddenly swung the gun up again, even as he made a charge at the two officers, and the door behind them. Horatio was caught very slightly off-guard. A split second, no more, but he felt a searing pain in his upper left arm, even as he heard the gunshot, and his finger tightened on the trigger. He would have made the shot, had Frank not resorted to low-tech methods and instinctively stuck his foot out, sending their suspect crashing to the ground. This time, the handcuffs were quickly in place.

With the boy on the ground, and his knee in the middle of his back, Frank looked up at Horatio. "Are you hit?"

"Winged." He felt his arm gingerly, through the shirt, and flexed his fingers. "Graze, I think. Nothing…"

"You're bleeding. You'd better give Rescue a shout."

"I'll see to it back at the ranch. Let's get out of here." He was embarrassed more than anything. At getting taken by surprise. Yes, he had been reluctant to shoot a young man who, almost certainly, had never committed more than a burglary, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to. But he must have hesitated. And that had been way too close for comfort. He felt the wound again. The shirt was torn, and he peeled it back. As he had suspected, it was just a graze, the bullet having ripped through the surface layer of skin and flesh, little more, though he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

There were reporters outside the building, but that often happened. They listened in to police broadcasts, and, these days, were often only a few minutes behind. It was irritating, but, as long as they _were _behind, it didn't interfere with the job too much.

Horatio stood on the steps of the building and drew a deep breath. He felt suddenly shaky… Too damned close… He holstered his own gun, drew another steadying breath, and watched Frank bundling the boy into the arms of a burly uniformed officer.

"Lieutenant?" A microphone was thrust into his face. "Was there a shoot-out?"

He almost said, _You think I always bleed like this? _But aloud, he snapped, "No comment." He pushed the man aside and headed for his car.

Keen to get away, and having no real means of bandaging his own arm, he drove quickly back to the lab, and, reluctantly, sought out Tom Loman.

"Can you cope with a live patient, doctor?" He gave the medic what he hoped was a cheerful smile.

"What have you done?"

"Bullet graze. Just needs a band-aid…"

"I think I'll be the judge of that. You're very pale. Sit down…"

But the ME concurred, agreeing that even stitches would be unnecessary. He cleaned the wound and applied a giant band-aid. "Tetanus up-to-date?"

Horatio nodded.

"I'll get you some painkillers."

"It's not that bad."

Tom shrugged. "You're the boss. Come back if you need something."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Horatio had slept badly. His arm was more sore than he cared to admit, and he kept turning over on to it. His mood was not therefore the best as he did his usual circuit of the labs the next morning. It soured further at the sight of Eric and Ryan sniggering - there was no other word for it - over the local newspaper.

"No work to do?" he said pointedly.

Eric's grin did not shift as he looked up. "You seen this?"

"I don't read that rubbish."

"You should." Eric held the paper out. "Report of your shoot-out…"

"It wasn't a shoot-out." But he took the paper and looked at the front page.

He was rendered temporarily speechless. The headline 'Miami's Hero' was set in large typeface above a photo of himself. He hadn't been aware it had been taken. He was standing on the steps of the building, right hand on the butt of his gun, sunlight catching the badge on his belt, left arm drenched with blood… Low angle, legs astride, expression deadly serious, hair ruffled by the breeze… He was embarrassingly aware that it was one of the best - and most flattering - photos he had seen.

Ryan murmured quietly. "I said we shouldn't show him…"

Eric was still grinning like an idiot.

"I was no hero," Horatio said firmly. "It was a complete screw-up. Frank'll tell you."

"Good pic, though. Very… Clint Eastwood."

"More Elliot Ness," added Ryan.

Horatio growled, "For God's sake, Eric! Bin it and do something useful!"

Still smirking, Eric put the paper carefully in a drawer.

Ashamed that he had got a frisson of pleasure at the picture, Horatio walked down to the police department and sought out Frank.

"Can we talk?"

The detective looked up, then looked round his busy department. "Want a coffee?"

They took their drinks outside and sat on a wall, enjoying a warm Miami morning, and a little privacy.

Horatio broke the silence. "About yesterday… I got it wrong. I thought he wouldn't shoot. I didn't freeze, but I did hesitate."

Frank shrugged. "Well, so did I - get it wrong. I went to cuff him without waiting for him to drop the gun. Fuck up all round… Are we getting old?"

Horatio smiled briefly. "Don't think so… Maybe getting blasé. But I apologise."

"Hell, I should be doing that! It was you got hurt. How are you, anyway?"

"Oh, fine. A scratch."

"Could have been a lot worse."

"And it would have been my fault. Are we okay?"

"Of course we are."

They sat in silence, sipping the coffee.

Frank chuckled suddenly. "You seen this morning's Herald?"

"Eric showed me. Embarrassing, in the circumstances."

"Great picture though. I think you're pinned up in the ladies' locker room. Be a fan club next."

"God help me!" Horatio drained the coffee, and stood up.


	2. Chapter 2

MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 2

Frank Tripp gave a cursory knock at Horatio's office door, and went in.

Horatio looked up from the computer. "Frank? You look worried…"

"I am and I'm not… Probably worrying about nothing…"

"Tell…"

"Remember that girl, hanging around outside? She keeps reappearing. I don't like it."

"So go and ask her what she's doing. I know what you said - there's no law against standing in a public street - but she probably doesn't know that. And it could be construed as suspicious behaviour, staring at the crime lab for hours on end…"

"Yeah, maybe I will. Though she's not there today."

"Well then…?"

"I think it's you… I think she's watching you."

Horatio's eyebrows shot up. "Me? Why do you think that?"

"Yesterday, when you went out… You walked off down the road…"

"I went to the drugstore before I headed home…"

"Well, it looked like she was following you. Although, to be fair…" Frank shrugged. "You came back to your car, and I didn't see her again."

Horatio smiled. "So it was probably a coincidence. Haven't you got any proper work to do, Francis? You can have some of mine."

"Don't brush it off. If you've got a stalker…"

"I haven't got a stalker! Look, you see her again, ask her. I'm sure there's a logical explanation. And I'm sure it's not me."

For a week, Horatio found himself checking the street, through the window, and every time he went outside, as Frank's paranoia - which he thought it was - affected even him. Although, he had to admit, Frank's instincts as a cop were finely honed. If he thought it was suspicious, it probably was. But Horatio never saw the girl. He wasn't, as far as he could tell, being followed, neither on foot, nor in the car. And he should have been able to tell… After a week or so, he put it out of his mind. If she had been watching someone, it wasn't him. And, anyway, she'd gone.

Even Frank had admitted it. "Haven't seen her in over a week."

"As you said originally - someone's girlfriend, I expect."

And so it was forgotten.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"This came for you, Lieutenant." The receptionist held out a small packet.

Horatio raised his eyebrows, but took the package and went on to his office. It wasn't that unusual - other labs, other police departments, sent things in, and sometimes they came addressed to him personally. True, there was theoretically some danger in accepting unsolicited parcels, but everything that arrived was automatically put under an airport-type scanner.

At his desk, he slit open the packet - long habit made him open things carefully. In case of a need to preserve evidence, and, despite the scanner, in case of nasty surprises. A leather-look jeweller's box slid out. It contained a watch, a gentleman's dress watch, wafer-thin, gold. It was… nice. Not Cartier or Patek Philippe nice, but nice, all the same. He tipped the envelope up and shook it, looking for a note. Nothing.

Horatio sighed. There were strict rules about accepting gifts, although people did occasionally send them. Someone happy with the outcome of a case, or someone experiencing closure after a tragic event… Gifts were invariably returned, graciously. Or, if that was impossible, they were quietly sold for charity. He sat looking at the watch, lifted it carefully with one finger - not engraved, at least. He tried to think what he'd done recently to deserve it, but drew a blank. He never felt comfortable with personal thanks anyway. Whatever the lab achieved was a team effort…

He put the watch back into the envelope and went back down to Reception.

"Was this signed in, Paula?" he asked the receptionist.

"Of course, Sir." She picked up the clipboard and handed it to him. "Last entry."

He gave a small mirthless chuckle. "Have you read it?"

She took it back, alarmed. "Is something wrong?"

"You tell me. 'M. Monroe'? And an address that doesn't exist…?"

"I'm sorry. I never checked."

"Can you recall who brought it in?"

"A woman. Caucasian. Dark hair, I think." She blushed in confusion. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. There was a family here - the father was creating a scene - I didn't really notice the delivery."

He sighed. "Okay. I understand. But try to check the sign-ins. You should be asking for ID. It could be important. Fortunately…" He held the packet up. "…I don't think this one is."

Horatio went to find Eric. "See if you can trace this for me."

Eric slid the box out and opened it, nodding in approval. He looked questioningly at his boss. "Gift?"

"Anonymous gift - which will go to charity unless I can find who sent it. I wasn't very careful - my fingerprints will probably be on it. Don't spend too long, but if you can get me a name…"

Eric returned with the watch two days later. "No joy, H. Lots of fingerprints, but nothing in the system. I did trace the store it came from, but it was paid for in cash."

"CCTV?"

"Already overwritten. And it's a big place - no one remembers anything about the buyer. It was quite expensive - few hundred dollars, but not expensive enough to be registered, or anything like that. Sorry."

Horatio shrugged. "Oh well, waste of someone's hard-earned money. Drop it down to PR, will you? It can go in the next charity sale."

He always wondered how gossip moved so quickly round the building. Next day, encountering Frank Tripp, he was challenged with, "Hear you're getting anonymous gifts…"

"One anonymous gift. How the hell did you hear about that?"

"Oh, you know…" Frank didn't elaborate. "So you don't know who?"

Horatio grinned. "It'll be one of my fan club…"

Frank shook his head. "It isn't funny, Horatio. I'd say someone's far too interested in you. Have you tried to find out who sent it?"

"Eric has. But we can't, so it's going to charity."

"Bet it's that girl."

"Girl? Oh, the one hanging round the building a few weeks ago? She hasn't been back, has she?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Frank, I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big boy. I can look after myself. Just suppose… suppose, mind… that someone's got a crush on me. Singularly unlikely, I'd say, but harmless, surely…"

"You've dealt with stalkers - nothing harmless about it."

"But no one's stalking me. Believe me, I _would _notice." He touched the detective's arm. "If it is her, she's wasting her money, and her time, but she's not apparently out to hurt me. And surely she wouldn't be anonymous - she'd want me to know… It could be someone else entirely. A satisfied customer. We do get them, you know. Lighten up, Frank."

Frank sighed. "All right. But take care, right?"

"Always, Frank, always."


	3. Chapter 3

MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 3

"I've got to get something to eat!" Ryan moaned.

Most of the team - Calleigh, Eric and Ryan - were pouring over the mutilated remains of a hotel room's contents. A room destroyed by an explosion and fire the day before. Quick action by the Fire Department had prevented the whole hotel from being consumed, but had not saved a young couple, the room's residents, from death. So far, there seemed no motive, and, while waiting for full autopsy results, the team was working on the remains of the bomb.

"We need H," Eric murmured. "He's the bomb expert."

"Well, he's in court," Calleigh said. "I spoke to him an hour ago. He said there were 'delays on top of delays', but he's subpoena'd, so he's got to stay. I don't think we'll get him back today."

"I don't need H. I need food," Ryan repeated.

"I could go round to Tacchi's - get some sandwiches," Calleigh said brightly.

"Rather have steak and fries… But I guess a sandwich would do."

"It's not your turn," Eric added. "You went last time. Ryan's the most desperate - he should go."

The door opened to admit Frank Tripp. He gestured to the table. "Got anything useful from that lot?"

As one, they turned to him. "Just the man…," Eric murmured.

"Me? What have I done?"

"Sandwiches, Frank. We're all really busy here, and starving…"

"And I've got nothing better to do?" But the detective shrugged. "All right. This once. Tacchi's? Give me your orders…"

He recognised the girl immediately, as she worked behind the counter in the sandwich bar. The place was busy, and she said, "Next!" without immediately looking up.

At the ensuing silence, however, she met Frank Tripp's eyes. Recognition was clearly mutual, and she blushed. "Yes, Sir. What can I get you?"

He gave the order, and watched as she prepared the sandwiches. She was clearly uncomfortable under his unforgiving stare.

Finally, he said, "What's your name?"

"Michelle." She hesitated. "You're from the crime lab, aren't you? I've seen you…"

"I am. Frank Tripp. Detective. How long have you worked here?"

"About three weeks."

"Hmm." He was tempted to take her outside and question her, there and then, but Tacchi's was overflowing with customers, and, really, had she done anything wrong? He gathered up the bagged sandwiches, and walked back to the lab, deep in thought. He delivered the food, but said nothing to the others.

Horatio was back from court the next day. Clad in a lab coat, he walked slowly round the layout table, eyeing the fragmented debris. Walked round it again, then stood, hands on hips, head cocked slightly to one side. The others watched - master at work - as he leant carefully across and extracted a small blackened piece of metal from the pile.

"I know what this is."

"What?" Ryan supplied the expected prompt.

"This, my friends, is the key to the bomb-maker…" He looked at the three faces staring at him. Then laughed. "No, it's not." He dropped it back on the table. "It's a bit of a lamp fitting." He looked at them again. "I'm messing with you - you don't think I'll walk in and immediately find something you've missed?"

"You have before," Ryan muttered.

"Sorry, I'm teasing… What have you got so far?"

Eric went through their findings - which were minimal at best - while quietly enjoying his boss's good mood. Such moods were becoming rare, he thought, and he'd take advantage of this one while it lasted. And in the next couple of hours, with Horatio's expertise, they did make progress, identifying parts of both a timing device and a power source for the bomb.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Frank Tripp was less happy. He found his mind dwelling, albeit unwillingly, on the girl, Michelle. He had been tempted to go back and speak to her again, but stopped himself. She really had done nothing wrong, and she wasn't doing anything wrong now. Something about her raised his suspicions however, and he knew his instincts were rarely misplaced. Logic told him that there were a dozen possible explanations for her earlier presence outside the lab, perhaps even connected with her new job at the sandwich bar. So, she had recognised him, but he accepted that his tall bald presence was quite distinctive. And he hadn't really identified a connection with Horatio… All right, once, one time, she had appeared to follow him. But she might not have been - Frank began to doubt what he had seen. Then there was Horatio's anonymous gift… But such things did happen, if rarely… And there was no proof that she had sent it… Most of all, Horatio was more than able to take care of himself. A man who had challenged the Russian mob hardly needed protection from a besotted young woman.

He decided he was far too busy to keep chewing over this rather vague scenario. If nothing else happened, then he'd put it down to a fertile imagination, although that wasn't something he was regularly accused of. Consequently, he did not raise the subject again with Horatio.

xxxxxxxxxx

Eric was grinning as he doled out the regular sandwich orders, including, unusually, one for Horatio. "Did you know you've got an admirer?"

Horatio frowned. "You sound like Frank. He thinks I've got a stalker. Well, he did. Who's this admirer?"

"Girl in the sandwich bar."

"I don't know any girl in the sandwich bar. I've never even been in there."

"Well, she knows you. I asked her to label the bags - it's such a big order today - and she asked if 'HC' was you. And she blushed."

"Blushed?" He was still frowning. "That doesn't constitute being an admirer."

"Open the bag."

Horatio did so. In addition to the sandwich - beef on rye, as ordered - the bag contained a Hershey bar.

"What's this?"

"She added it. Said you needed feeding up. That's when she blushed."

"If she knew me, she'd know I don't eat chocolate." He was mildly annoyed. "Why did you let her? It's not funny, Eric."

His colleague shrugged. "I told her not to, but it was hellish busy. I wasn't going to have a row about a chocolate bar in the middle of the shop."

Horatio sighed, putting the extra item aside. "Okay, but I'm not happy." Then he smiled. "Not that I can be bribed with a Hershey bar."

"Understood, boss," Eric hesitated. "Can I have it then?"

"Help yourself. What does she look like anyway?"

"Mid twenties, dark, quite attractive…."

It rang an unwelcome bell. Horatio nodded, as the faintest trace of concern wormed through his gut.

In fact, Horatio was rarely included in the now regular sandwich run. Either he was out, or he skipped lunch altogether. So the problem - if it was one - didn't arise again for quite a while.

When it did, it was his birthday. Birthdays weren't something Horatio made a song about. He preferred to ignore them, finding they came around all too quickly. In consequence, none of his team commemorated it, and that suited him fine. Except, this year, he got a call from Reception.

"Lieutenant… I've got a delivery for you…" Paula's voice sounded amused.

He was busy. "Can it wait?"

"Well… It's… attracting a bit of attention."

"Okay, I'll come down."

The cake had gathered several admirers - it was a near perfect replica of the admittedly striking building that housed the crime lab, complete with two figures, recognisably himself and Frank, on the steps. The sign outside had been changed to 'Happy Birthday'.

He was angry. "Who left this?"

"A courier brought it in. And this…" She handed him a parcel. "I took all his details," she added quickly.

Calleigh's voice interrupted his far from charitable thoughts. "My, that is a beautiful cake…"

"It's nothing to do with me!" he snapped. "Give me those courier details…" The reception desk was getting crowded. "Calleigh, do me a favor - take it upstairs, while I try and sort this out."


	4. Chapter 4

MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 4

"_Now_ will you take this seriously?" Frank leant on Horatio's desk, looking at the lustrous black and silver silk, spilling out of the unwrapped parcel.

"I suppose I have to. Have you seen the cake?"

"Yes. I had to stop your lot from eating it. You can't accept this stuff."

"I don't intend to." He stroked the silk. "Do I look like a kimono sort of guy?"

"Are they still called kimonos when they're for men? Anyway, don't change the subject. Is it anonymous again?"

"Not entirely - 'All my love, M'.

"Michelle."

Horatio looked up in surprise. "You know who it is?"

"Yes. So would you, if you'd taken it halfway seriously. Girl who was hanging round the lab, works in Tacchi's. Name's Michelle."

"Eric mentioned something…"

"And you ignored it, of course! This woman is seriously obsessed with you. At very least, you're open to all sorts of questions if you accept gifts."

"I'm not going to accept them! Hell, Frank, I've never even met her!"

Frank sighed. "Since when has that ever stopped the weirdos? Look, let me confirm it with the courier - I'm sure it is her, but let's get the proof - then I'll go and see her."

"Confirm it, by all means. But I should see her myself."

"Not a good idea, Horatio…"

"Frank, she obviously thinks she's got some sort of relationship with me… So I'm the best person to convince her she hasn't. Yes?"

Frank nodded reluctantly. "You might be right. But don't go near her yet, okay? Let me talk to the courier, and we'll take it from there. Tell your gang to get their lunch somewhere else for a couple of days." He turned to go. "And put that cake somewhere safe, before they eat the evidence. Happy Birthday, by the way."

xxxxxxxxxxx

"I hate to admit it, Frank, but I'm not sure how to tackle this…" Horatio and Frank were in their usual spot for a private conversation, sitting on the wall outside the lab. "Do I call her in here?"

"Might be best. You can't really approach her in her workplace."

"She hasn't actually committed a crime, you know."

"Not yet, but she's inciting you to, by sending gifts. Anyway, these things escalate."

"I could see her outside somewhere… Can I really justify dragging her into a police facility?"

"Horatio, don't take this wrong, but you're being particularly dumb about this. You meet her outside, it's a date. What she wants. Do it in here, and it's an official warning, if you like."

"Seems harsh…"

"Oh, for God's sake! Do you want to put a stop to this or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"All right. Look, _I'll_ call her in. We'll both see her. How does that sound?"

"You don't need to be there."

Frank sighed heavily. "I think I do. First, you have a tendency to go soft on attractive young women. And second, you should have a witness. Deal?"

Horatio grinned. "Okay. Anything to shut you up."

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Horatio Caine… Wow…" The woman stared at him, across the table in the interrogation room. She appeared mesmerised. "Wow… Aren't you…"

Horatio raised his eyebrows. He was mildly intrigued, but somewhat relieved that he felt no attraction to Michelle Freeman whatsoever. She was attractive enough, but too young, and not his type.

"You're just like your picture…"

"Picture?"

"'Miami's Hero'. Wow…"

Horatio winced at the memory. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Not really."

"You've been sending me things."

"And following him," Frank added. He was leaning on the wall, ready to help his friend out, if the conversation got awkward, which it promised to do.

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. I'd never do that." She looked from Horatio to Frank and back again.

"I can't accept gifts. It puts me in a compromising position." Horatio's tone was gentle. Too gentle, Frank thought.

"Why? I mean, it's not like I work here or anything."

"Michelle..." He changed tack. "You don't know me… Why would you think it's even appropriate?"

"I feel as if I know you."

"How? We've never met."

She looked down at her lap. "Well, I've seen you. On TV sometimes. And I've read all about you. I've got pictures. I just felt… a connection…" She looked up at him. "Sorry, I sound like a crazy teenager with a crush, I expect."

_You sound like a complete whack job,_ Frank thought, realising that Horatio was going to have to be far tougher to get the message across.

Fortunately, Horatio seemed to think the same. "I'm going to be blunt. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but there is nothing between us. Nothing. Do you understand?"

She was silent.

"I can't accept any more gifts from you," he added.

It was as if she hadn't heard him. "Do you have a girlfriend? Is that it? I know you're a widower…"

Frank stepped forward. "Not your business, Missy. My colleague here is too much of a gentleman to say this, but you're pestering, harassing and stalking. It's offensive and it's against the law."

She stared at him. "I'm not… I'm not! You're being horrible."

"Well, it's how it appears. Now, we're not here to press charges, but we don't want to see you hanging around the lab, and we don't want any more communications - no gifts, no cakes, nothing. Are we clear?"

The tears welled up in her eyes. She stared at Frank, then at Horatio. Then she stood up and ran from the room.

Frank shrugged.

Horatio murmured, "That was a bit brutal."

"It needed saying. She's nuts. Reasoned argument wasn't going to work. I just hope she takes notice. I imagine she'll be embarrassed and disappear."

"I've still got a cake and a silk kimono…"

"I don't think I'd call her back. Eat the cake. Donate the kimono." He looked at his friend. "You okay?"

"I think so. It's a bit… disturbing…"

"Lots of crazy people out there, Horatio. Look, I didn't get a feeling she's dangerous, but you will stay alert, won't you? Just in case…"


	5. Chapter 5

MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 5

_(Two weeks later….)_

Eric enjoyed watching Horatio interrogate. He was a master of his craft, switching his tone from quiet empathy, to light-hearted banter, to intimidating aggression, as the circumstances dictated. He could lull a suspect into a mood to talk, but he could as easily scare them into an admission. Eric watched him and tried to learn, tried to imitate his mentor.

He was having a difficult time with Carlos Gonzales. The man was a hardened felon, and a 'no comment' merchant. So far, Horatio's skills had, for the most part, failed, and the man was more or less blanking them. They had been niggling away at him since two o'clock. It was now almost four. Eric felt he needed a coffee, and thought that Horatio, who had been talking almost non-stop, would be even more in need of a break. However, he knew that if his boss perceived a chink in the suspect's armor, he'd keep on.

He heard him falter. Horatio seemed to lose his train of thought. Stopped a sentence then started again. Then stopped, with a small sound somewhere between a cough and groan. Eric scooted his chair closer and took his arm.

"What is it?" He spoke softly but urgently. "Are you ill?"

He got no answer. Horatio braced his hands on the table, and pushed the chair back a little. He made to stand, but it was as if his legs wouldn't co-operate, and he slumped back. Then he wrapped his arms round his body and leant forward, his head almost on his knees.

Eric didn't hesitate. He signalled to the uniformed officer to take their prisoner out. As they left, he got up, closed the door, dropped the blinds on the windows that looked out on the bull-pen, and went back to Horatio.

He touched his knee. "What is it? Try to tell me… Are you in pain?"

He got an incoherent grunt in reply.

Eric pulled his cell out and called Tom Loman. "Tom, come quick, will you? Interrogation room. Horatio's ill."

He put his arm round his boss's shoulders. He could feel him trembling. His immediate thought was a heart attack. He murmured, "Hang on… Tom's coming…" then, with no response from Horatio, he hugged him, saying softly, "I've got you, I've got you…," over and over, while he prayed for Tom to hurry.

The doctor, complete with medical bag, came in, quietly closing the door. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He just suddenly went… like this… He's in pain, Tom. Is it his heart?"

The ME bent down beside him. "Horatio? Can you hear me? Can you sit up?"

Eric did not always get on with the eccentric and excitable Tom Loman, but now, his manner couldn't have been more gentle.

"Come on… Try to sit up. I can't even examine you like this…" He rubbed Horatio's arm. "At least tell me where it hurts…"

Horatio, with a faint moan, pushed himself partially upright. He was white to the point of grayness, with tears of pain in his eyes. He whispered, "Got to lie down…"

Eric wished there was somewhere more comfortable than the floor, but there wasn't, and at least the room offered some privacy. Together, he and Tom eased him onto the ground. Eric grabbed Horatio's own jacket from the hook and folded it under his head.

Tom said quietly, "Eric, this really doesn't look good. I think we need an ambulance."

Eric nodded, pulling out his cell phone, while watching the doctor doing his best to examine a man intent on rolling onto his side and curling up.

He managed a brief examination. "Well, I don't think it's his heart. Seems to be abdominal pain mostly…"

"Appendix?"

The doctor shook his head. "Too sudden. And too severe."

Horatio groaned, throwing himself onto his back, then onto his side again.

"Can't you help him?" Eric knelt down beside Horatio, putting an arm across his shoulders again.

"I'd rather leave it to the hospital. Honestly, Eric, I've no idea what we're looking at."

The ambulance arrived quickly, as Horatio, though still in pain, seemed to drift closer to unconsciousness. As the paramedics lifted him onto a gurney, Eric said quickly, "Tom, tell the others, will you? Well, Calleigh, particularly." Even as he said it, he knew that word of this would rush through the building like wildfire, and no one would need to be told anything. "I'm going in with him."

"Of course. And let me know…"

Eric hated hospitals, hated them as a patient, as a visitor, most of all as… whatever this was called - waiting for news. He had spoken to Calleigh on the phone, but it was Frank Tripp who now sat down heavily in the chair beside him.

"What in hell happened, Eric?"

Eric repeated the events. "I've never known him be ill, especially like that…"

"No warning signs?"

"None. We were in interrogation. He was fine. Then he wasn't."

"And they haven't said…?"

"Not yet." He glanced at his watch. "It's been over an hour."

They both waited in silence. It was another half-hour before a doctor approached.

"Well, unlikely as it sounds, we think he's been poisoned."

Eric frowned. "Deliberately, you mean?"

"Ah, don't know that. Could be accidental. Trouble is, we don't yet know what with. We're running tests at the moment."

"He'll be okay, though?"

"He's not good, but he's strong. We've got the pain level down, but he's barely staying conscious."

"Can I see him?"

"Rather not, until he's a bit more stable…" The doctor smiled sympathetically. "Look, I'm going to chase the results up. Sooner we know what we're dealing with, sooner I'll be able to give you proper news."

Eric stared at Frank. "Poison? How could he be poisoned?"

The detective shook his head, his expression grim. "I've got the most horrible suspicion… No… It's not possible…"

"What, Frank? Tell me."

"Let's see what the tests say."

"Please, Frank!"

"No, I don't want anyone going off at half-cock. Let's get the facts… Although," he added under his breath, "if I'm right, I swear to God I'm going to kill the bitch myself."


	6. Chapter 6

**(Note: I have no idea if there is a drug that could do this, so I ask any medical professionals out there to excuse me! It's just fiction, right…)**

MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 6

Despite Eric's pleas, Frank Tripp refused to elaborate, and, before long, the doctor was back.

He looked grave. "Well, we know what it is…" He gave a name that meant absolutely nothing to either man.

"What is it?" Eric asked. "I've never heard of it."

"You won't have. It's only used in veterinary medicine. But it does mean it could hardly have been accidental, I'd have thought…. Unless he's got connections there - girlfriend? Pets?"

"No. Nothing like that. How was it administered?"

"Oh, ingested, definitely. If it had been injected, he'd be dead."

Eric blinked. "He's not going to die…?"

The doctor smiled. "No, he's not. He's got some in his blood stream, but not very much… That's why his level of consciousness was dropping. It's coming back, now that we're treating him. The worse thing is, ingested, it's gone straight through his digestive system and… well, basically attacked his stomach and gut. So he's going to be very uncomfortable and quite poorly, while it heals. But it will heal. He's a strong man, and you got him here quickly. He'll get over it."

"Thank God for that," Frank murmured. "Doctor, write that name down for me…"

The doctor did so, then said, "You can see him, if you want, though he's a bit out of it."

Frank took the paper and stood up. "Stay with him, Eric. I've got some enquiries to make."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Outside the hospital, Frank called the lab. It was early evening, and he expected to get one of the nightshift. He was relieved to hear Calleigh's warm Southern tones.

"Cal, you're in late…"

"Lots to do… in the circumstances… Is he okay, Frank?" Her voice shook slightly, clearly anticipating the worst.

"He will be. I'll tell you later, but I need you to do something. If I'm not too late…"

"Anything. What do you need?"

"Lunch today… Did Horatio have a sandwich? From Tacchi's?"

"I think he did. Is this to do with what happened?"

"It might be, but I don't know yet. Where did he eat it?"

"Not the break room… Probably his office…"

"Do you know if it's been cleaned yet?"

"It hasn't. I'm in there now. You want the sandwich wrapping?"

"Just retrieve it, if it's there, Calleigh. Treat it as evidence. Look, I've got to go. Talk later."

Frank rang off and drove straight to Tacchi's, where he found the Italian owner just closing up. Michelle Freeman? Yes, she had been in, but had gone home sick, after lunch. "She have the women's troubles, I think…"

"I'll bet she did," Frank said sourly. "I need her employee records."

The details seemed genuine, and led him to Windsor and Freeman, Veterinarians. He was greeted at the door by an anxious man.

"Have you found Michelle? Has something happened? I was about to call you people…"

"And you are..?"

"John Freeman. She's my wife."

Frank barely hid his surprise. Somehow, he had not expected her to be married. "And where should she be?"

"Well, here, by now. She was at work - she's a librarian - but she should be back by four."

"Did you call the… er… library?"

"No, I assumed she'd gone shopping. But it's getting late now." He frowned in confusion. "Officer, why are you here?"

"I think I'd better come in, Mr. Freeman." Frank realised it might well be 'Dr. Freeman', but he wasn't in any mood to stand on ceremony.

In the next five minutes, Frank learnt very little new about Michelle, but John Freeman heard a great deal about his wife. Frank left with the number of Michelle's car, the names of one or two acquaintances of the Freemans, and a certainty that he had the right suspect.

But the woman was running.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It was late when Frank got back to the hospital. Directed by a nurse, he quietly opened the door to the room where Eric sat beside a sleeping Horatio. The CSI was dozing. He looked up, startled, then rubbed his eyes and smiled. From the smile, Frank deduced that Horatio was at least stable. He beckoned Eric to come outside.

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty well, I gather."

A nurse came past them, and overheard. "He is - he's out of danger. You gentlemen should go home… Come and see him tomorrow."

Frank looked enquiringly at Eric, who nodded. They walked out together, and headed for Frank's car. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."

"Are you going to tell me about your suspicions?"

"I will. And now they're certainties."

xxxxxxxxxxx

It took only hours to apprehend Michelle Freeman. Frightened and amateurish, she had tried to sleep in her car, and was picked up by Highway Patrol.

Next day, Calleigh successfully identified the veterinary drug on the sandwich remains. Case proven… If circumstantially.

Frank was reluctant to do the interview. He'd have preferred to rip the woman's head off, at least metaphorically, but he knew he had to get the confession. He sat down, facing her, and took a deep breath.

"Do you know what you've done?"

"I made him sick?" She was fearful, but oddly defiant.

"You damn near killed him!"

"I only used a tiny bit - I just wanted him to know how he hurt me. After everything…"

Frank sighed. "Tell me exactly what you did. Better still, write it down. Then I won't have to listen to you. Oh, and just so you know, we'll be talking attempted homicide."

He sat back and watched her burst into tears.

And, later, it was Frank who went to update Horatio. Relieved to find him sitting up in bed, and fully alert, he was nevertheless shocked at the pallor and stress in the handsome face.

He sat down, and gave what he hoped was a cheerful smile. "How you doing, partner?"

"Okay… Well, I can't eat, and my guts are falling apart…" He grinned ruefully. "But they're looking after me. You going to tell me what's going on?"

Frank nodded. Horatio listened in silence, though his expression betrayed his shock.

At the end, he murmured, "My God… How did I not see that coming?"

"I didn't either."

"You did. You kept warning me…"

Frank sighed. "I really didn't see her going for you physically… I'm sorry, Horatio - I think I said she wasn't dangerous… And it was me that sent her packing - none too kindly."

"Frank, Frank, you've got nothing to be sorry for! I just feel…. How could I have been so stupid? Thirty years a cop, and I walked right into it?"

The two men sat in silence. At last, Horatio said, "Well, I've learnt one thing - next time, I'll listen to your hunches. Although I hope there's not a 'next time'."

Frank chuckled.

"What?"

"Well, the world's full of nut jobs. You're often in the public eye, and you're an attractive man - so they tell me - have to say, you don't do it for me."

"Glad of that."

"So, all I'm saying… It might crop up again. Specially if you keep getting your picture in the paper. 'Miami's Hero' indeed!" He shook his head, then stood up. "You take care now…"

xxxxxxxxxx

Epilogue

Calleigh assembled the team in the layout room. She smiled at them all. They'd worked hard to give her the confidence to run the lab in Horatio's absence…

"I know you want to know what's happening in Horatio's case… Michelle Freeman will be charged with attempted homicide. The DA took a bit of persuading, and it may still be downgraded to an assault, but I'm not going to let it go easily. She's pleading mental incapacity, but I don't think that will carry any weight - there's not much doubt that she knew what she was doing.

And the best news of all… Horatio was discharged from hospital this morning. His doctors say he should convalesce for a couple of weeks. He says he'll be back on Monday."

THE END


End file.
